Barrett lasted one heart-hammering, ass-shaking song on the dance floor before he appeared to decide I wasn’t going rogue and randy enough for his liking. With a syrupy smile, he looped his arms around my neck and leaned in close. “Listen,” he said as soberly as he probably could. “If you end up ditching some more of your clothes out here, make sure someone takes a pic. I want to confirm you actually have nipples. Is your dick really molded plastic, or do they give Ken dolls a little more definition nowadays?” “Squeeze it and see,” I suggested with a smirk. “Ahhhhhhh!” He howled with delight.
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